


The Matchmaker

by QueenOfTheMerryMen



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Creepy, Gen, Isolation, Kidnapping, SpookyOQ
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-06 18:30:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16392905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfTheMerryMen/pseuds/QueenOfTheMerryMen
Summary: It was a crisp, October night when Regina Mills was kidnapped and locked away. 175 days later she's about to find out why.





	1. Chapter 1

_ It was a crisp October night the last time anyone saw Regina Mills. That morning she’d woken up, gone jogging and headed to work as always. Her colleagues would tell investigators that nothing was out of the ordinary with her. She was as focused and diligent as always, charming to her clients and good at what she did. When it was time to clock out, she met up with some friends at a bar two blocks away. Those same friends would tell the media what a good mood she’d been in. Two drinks and she was all smiles. It wasn’t even late when she bid them goodbye. She was still clear headed as she kissed them on the cheek, tossed a wave over her shoulder and walked out the door.  _

 

_ That was the last time anyone saw Regina Mills.  _

 

\---------------------

 

**_Day 1_ **

 

The first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was fluorescent lights. They buzzed softly as she stirred against the floor, peeling her skin from the cold, metallic material it was made of. She blinked rapidly as she sat up, trying to discern where the hell she was and how she got there. A shiver went down her spine as she remembered walking down the street and reaching a dark patch of sidewalk. A damp cloth shoved against her face as someone’s arm wrapped tight around her middle. She’d barely started to scream when everything went black. 

 

A shuddering breath fell from her lips as her eyes whipped around the room. It was like she was in a box - a frigid, metal box barely thirty feet long. At the end of the room box there were slivers of light. A door. Wobbling in her heels, she ran toward it, sobs falling from her lips as she banged her palms against it, terror seeping into her bones when she heard chains on the other side. She was locked in. 

 

Still banging her palms against the walls, she started to scream for help. For hours she screamed and banged, praying to god someone would hear her, free her. The only thing she got in response was silence. Hands stinging from the walls, she sunk into a ball in a corner, tears streaming down her face. 

 

“What is happening?” she whispered. 

 

**_Day 3_ **

 

She’s starving. Her lips are chapped from thirst. She’s hardly slept, she’s too afraid. 

 

No one has come for her. No savior, no captor. For the first time she wonders if she’s simply left to die a slow death. 

 

She sits near the door of her box, barefoot with her heels in hand. The room is barren and though no one has come yet, the pointed ends of her shoes are the only thing she can think to use a weapon should anyone come. What she wouldn’t give for a pair of socks. Her toes are like ice against the chilled metal floor. Shivering, she wraps her blazer around her legs, trying to keep herself warm. Trying to survive. 

 

Someone will come for her. Someone has to. 

 

That night she finally succumbs to sleep. It creeps up on her, unyielding. She can’t even fight it. 

 

**_Day 4_ **

 

She wakes up warm, something scratching against her skin. Opening her eyes, she bolts upright realizing that she’s covered in a blanket. Scrambling to her feet, she presses her back against the wall, panting in fear. Looking around the room she takes in every inch of the box, all thirty by ten feet of it. 

 

There’s no one in here with her. 

 

But there was. 

 

The blanket isn’t the only new arrival. Under the light, there’s a gallon of water and a box of cereal, bran flakes. She knows it’s dangerous. It could be poisoned or drugged but starvation far outweighs common sense for her. Hands shaking, she opens the jug of water, desperately drinking it a gulp at a time. Drops of water slide from her lips down to her chin and she knows she should stop. Coughing she sets down the jug. Who knows when she’ll get more. She needs to be smart, save some for later. 

 

Stomach growling, she moves onto the bran flakes, ravenously shoving them into her mouth by the handful. They crunch and tear at the inside of her but she barely feels it. 

 

Still chomping on the cereal, she looks around once again. There’s no one inside with her. But somehow… she still feels watched. 

 

Dropping the box to the floor, she runs to the door again, despairing when she hears the chains again. Sobbing, she presses her face against it, weakly banging her hands against the metal. 

 

“Please… let me go… please…” 

 

She cries and begs. Sobs but no one comes. She’s alone. No one is coming. 

 

She shuffles back to her blanket, her eyes narrowing at the floor where she sees a slip of blue paper. Her breathing grows heavy as she stares down at it. That wasn’t here before. She’s certain of that. 

 

Kneeling two the floor, she takes into her hand, sniffling as she reads the two words written on it in cursive. 

 

_ Stay warm.  _

 

**_Day 12_ **

 

The lights never turn off. 

 

She stares up at them, those blindingly bright fluorescent lights. They’ve been her only company. 

 

She still hasn’t seen anyone but whoever her captor was they’ve visited. Every few days she drifts off to sleep and wakes up to food and water. Cereal one time, a bunch of bananas the next, certainly nothing filling. There have been other delivers as well. A pillow for her head, a pair of knee socks with cartoon characters on them and a bucket she’d set in the corner for obvious reasons. Yet, nothing that could give her even a sliver of information about who kidnapped her and why she is here. 

 

Her clothes grow more crumpled with every passing day, hanging loosely from her body. She’s been dropping weight faster than ever, sparingly eating her food unsure of when it’ll come next. Her skin has started to crack and itch, dry from the cold air. She’s sure if she had a mirror she could see that her hair had grown thin and greasy. 

 

Wrapped in her blanket she stares up at the light. It’s soft hum is the only noise she’s heard since she first woke up here. It never stops. 

 

It never stops. 

 

Standing up she squints her eyes at the bulb. That light has been on for as long as she’s been here which means… it must be connected to some kind of electrical port. Even with the occasional visit a generator wouldn’t be able to run so long on its own. She has to be near somewhere, a house or an abandoned building of some kind. 

 

She observes the light more closely, circling and squinting against its light, truly taking in every inch of it. Finally she stops, a small gasp escaping her. At the end of the bulb, almost so small her eye drifted over it, is a black sticker of some sort. Moving closer she sees a small glare in the center and realizes… it’s a lens. 

 

She hasn’t seen her kidnapper yet… but they’ve certainly been keep an eye on her. 

 

Looking the camera dead in the eye, she clenches her fists, thinking of the sick pleasure her tormenter must derive from keeping her trapped. Was it punishment? Torture? Tears ran down her cheek as she looked up at the light. 

 

“What do you want from me?” 

 

**_Day 43_ **

 

She doesn’t know how long she’s been here. But she’s starting to think she’ll never leave. 

 

At first there was hope. Prayers that someone would find her - the police, an innocent bystander, she would’ve settled for anyone. But it’d been weeks, she could tell. She watched the news, she knew how this ended. The next time anyone saw her, she’d be facedown in a ditch. She just knew it. 

 

She wonders about her family, if they’re still looking for her. She hadn’t spoken to her mother in years, her sister in months. They’d never been close, none of them. But they had to have cared, they had to have tried to find her. She tried to picture her mother demanding the police keep searching, her sister weeping in front of cameras for attention. She wondered if the news covered her disappearance at all. It’s not like she was some fresh-faced teenager but she was still relatively young and attractive enough. Surely there’d be one article out on her. 

 

The plants in her house are probably dead, she doubts anyone was watering them. Is her apartment empty yet? Has the landlord given up on her? 

 

Have people started to move on? Did anyone still miss her? 

 

She stared up at the light, knowing the camera was still hidden beside the bulb. 

 

“Please… say something to me… please…” 

 

**_Day 78_ **

 

She’s got a new gift today. 

 

When she woke up there was food and water in the corner. Beneath them was a mirror. Lifting up the food she nearly dropped in alarm, terrified that she’d seen a monster. Bottom lip trembling she forced herself to look at her reflection.  

 

She didn’t know this person. 

 

The woman in the mirror had lips cracked with blood, sunken dark spots beneath her eyes and sickly thin cheeks. Her collarbones stuck out beneath her skin, barely hidden by they smelly clothes hanging from her body. 

 

She sobbed. 

 

**_Day 82_ **

 

_ 31, 32, 33… lap.  _

 

She paced in circles around her box. It was all she could do to pass time. 

 

_ 31, 32, 33… lap.  _

 

She muttered under her breath, counting her steps. 

 

_ 31, 32, 33... lap.  _

 

**_Day 83_ **

 

When she woke up there were books piled in the corner. 

 

She eyed them suspiciously, before picking them up. The first was a leatherbound book of fairy tales, another a small book of short stories and so on. Confused she opened up the book of fairytales. On the back of the cover was another small, blue note with words written in cursive. 

 

_ Boredom will drive you mad.  _

 

**_Day 100_ **

 

The books helped. She didn’t want them to but they did. 

 

She feels guilty about it but she never read that much before the box. She was always too busy or too tired. Stories didn’t interest her. They weren’t real life. 

 

But now she no longer had a life. The books were her only escape from the hell she was trapped in. They reminded her of what life once was, of things she hadn’t even thought to miss. Tea and scones, long walks on summer days, the sound of a ticking clock and people. Oh,how she missed people. What she wouldn’t give to hear someone else’s voice? 

 

**_Day 114_ **

 

Her food’s getting better. 

 

Everyday now she wakes up to something new and plentiful. No more cereal and bananas. She now gets meats and cheeses. Delicious sweets and savory delicacies whose tastes she’d long forgotten. 

 

Her bones grow less pronounced. Her cheeks begin to fill out. 

 

She’s worried. 

 

**_Day 147_ **

 

She wakes with a small red box next to her face. Startled she sits up afraid. Like always there’s no one else in the room with her, they only come in when she sleeps. 

 

Holding her breath she opens the box, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion when she sees what’s inside. 

 

A brand new tube of lipstick. Blood red. 

 

Her favorite shade. 

 

Angry, she snaps the box closed and throws it across the room. She might be their captive but she’s not their doll.

 

**_Day 173_ **

 

The gifts have kept coming. A hairbrush one day, nail polish on another. Each new one enrages her. They’re playing with her, expecting her to dress up and make herself beautiful. Well, she won’t play their game. She might be trapped her but this is one thing she can still decide. 

 

Today, she wakes up to something new. A beautiful black ball gown with a skirt made of tulle and a pair of strappy heels. 

 

She runs her fingers along it, staring in awe. The fabric is thick and expensive, soft to the touch. Every thread stitched with care. Glancing at the waist line, she can tell it’ll fit her. In another life… she’d be flattered. In this one, she’s just angry. 

 

She storms toward the camera, trembling with rage.  

 

“I’m not wearing this!” she screams. “Do you hear me?! I’m not dressing for you! I am not yours!” 

 

**_Day 174_ **

 

She wakes up naked. 

 

Her clothes stripped from her in her sleep, she shivers against the metallic floor, curled up trying to keep herself warm. They’ve taken her clothes, her blanket and pillow. All they left was the ballgown. 

 

By the wall furthest from the camera she examines herself. Nothing hurts, she has no aches,  pains or scratches. She hasn’t been hurt… yet. 

 

The message is clear. 

 

Disobedience will not be tolerated. 

 

**_Day 175_ **

 

She puts on the dress. She paints on the lipstick. She runs the brush through her hair and straps on her shoes. 

 

She does what’s necessary to make it through another day. 

 

Staring at herself in the mirror, she tries not to see herself as a victim or a doll. She’s a survivor. 

 

She will survive this. 

 

Sleep snatches her away before she’s ready that night. And she closes her eyes unaware that this was the last time she would ever see the inside of the box. 

 

\----------------------

 

_ It’s a warm April morning when Robin Locksely goes missing. After working the night shift at his restaurant he returns home to relieve the babysitter. The woman would afterwards tell police that he seemed a bit more tired than usual but still kind and generous to give her money for a cab home. A few hours later he would wake up his son and send him off to school. As his son would later cry to his mother, he’d promise to take him to the zoo that weekend to see the giraffes. Texting his friends, made plans to meet up with them that afternoon to discuss a new items for the menu.  _

 

_ Those friends would be the first to worry when he didn’t show up.  _

 

_ \-------------------- _

 

The first thing he heard were the springs of the mattress beneath him. They squeaked as he came too, shifting in the bed. Opening his eyes he sat up, still groggy but terrified. His breathing grew heavy as his mind started to clear up. 

 

Where the hell was he?

 

He looked around the room. Other than the bed it was barren, with chipped paint on the walls and rotting wood floors that creak when he stood. Trying not to panic he ran toward the door, tripping to his knees. Looking down at his feet, his eyes widened when he saw a chain shackled to his ankle and attached to the bed. 

 

Oh god. 

 

Shooting to his feet, he rushed toward the door, throwing his entire body against it when the doorknob wouldn’t turn. It didn’t budge an inch. He might as well have been bricked in. For all he knew, he actually was. 

 

Trying not to panic, he looked around the room again. Two window. Trying not to trip over the chain, he went to the one on the left forcefully pulling up the blinds. It was no use. They were painted black from the outside. He couldn’t see a thing. 

 

Slowly losing hope he walked over to the second window. It was different than the first. It had a new border, one in much better condition than the first window. Swiftly pulling up the blinds he jumped when he saw his own reflection. Looking down he took notice of what he was wearing, realizing it wasn’t what he’d had on this morning. 

 

His soft flannel and work boots hand been replaced with a black tuxedo and dress shoes. Swallowing hard he stared at the window. It wasn’t painted over like the other. Squinting he could see… something, another room perhaps. 

 

Suddenly, a light flickered on and the window lit up. He could see into the other room. 

 

It was just as barren as his own except… there was a woman lying on the bed. Dark hair and red lipstick she appeared to be passed out in black ball gown and heels. Banging his hands against the window he tried to get her attention but she wouldn’t stir. After a minute a blue slip of paper fell from the top of the glass, past his face, drifting to the floor. 

 

Hands trembling he picked it up to see one word written on the back in cursive. 

 

_ Soulmate. _


	2. Chapter 2

Detective Rogers had a problem. Well, four problems depending on how you look at it. 

 

Nearly two years ago a homicide case had fallen on his desk. A man and a woman with their throats slashed. That alone had been horrific but then he’d shown up on the scene. A pair of theatre employees had called it in. They’d been cleaning up before opening when they found them, bloody and dead-eyed in the back row. Apparently a movie had been playing for them. 

 

They’d described the scene to him from over the phone but nothing could’ve prepared him for what he saw when he got there. The bodies were seated side by side, their fingers laced together on the middle armrest. Dead for hours, dried blood had spilled from their necks onto their clothing. The girl, a young librarian, had been dressed in a poodle skirt with a white blouse, her high ponytail falling over her shoulder as her head was placed on the shoulder of the guy, a locksmith, dressed in a white tee and a black leather jacket. They were perfectly staged. If it weren’t for the blood and the mascara running down the woman’s face he would’ve thought they were a 1950’s couple on their first date. 

 

He’d been on homicide for two years at that point. He’d never seen anything so sick. 

 

The press were clamoring for details and the force did their best to keep most of the details out of the public’s hands to discourage any copycats. Still everyone was breathing down his neck - the press, his partner, his captain. They all wanted a name or a lead… but there was none. 

 

The clothes had likely come from a chain thrift store. None of the employees had seen anyone lurking around. There wasn’t a scrap of DNA on the bodies. Even the security cameras in the theatre parking lot had been on the fritz. It was almost like a perfect storm. 

 

Even the victims lacked a connection. 

 

The woman, Belle French, had been a librarian from San Francisco. The man, Will Scarlet, had been a Santa Cruz locksmith. She’d moved to town from Maine, while he was a pure California native. She’d gone to Golden Gate University and he’d dropped out of community college. They had no history, no points or dates that overlapped. According to friends and records, there was no sign that they’d known each other at all. 

 

The only thing that appeared to link them was the fact that they were both missing persons. Will had been missing for a month before his body was found, Belle for a little more than two. 

 

And there had been no suspects for either of their disappearances. No grudges or angry exes. He’d done the best he could but in the end the case had run cold… until a few months later. 

 

He’d been in bed when he’d gotten the call. It was almost 3 am and Alice had crawled into his bed again the night before. He’d scrambled in the dark to answer his phone before it woke her. When he’d heard what happened his next call was to a sitter. Another couple had been found. 

 

Ariel Triton and Eric Prince. She’d been missing six weeks, him five. After some marital problems at home, a man had found them in a rowboat tied to the docks. When Rogers saw them there… it was like deja u. 

 

Still as dolls, they sat on opposite ends of the boat with their throats slashed. The girl looked up him with a blank expression, her hair falling against her shoulders in beach waves, a parasol trapped in her gloved hand by rigor mortis. By contrast Eric’s eyes weren’t on him at all. They were frozen staring at the girl across from him… his date. The killer had posed him with an oar in each hand and blood stains were drying on his blue and white striped shirt. 

 

It wasn’t a copycat. He shot that theory down as soon as he heard it. The way they were posed, the care and commitment to the scenario - it couldn’t be imitation. This was the same murderer who’d killed Belle French and Will Scarlet. He knew it. 

 

And he would be damned if he let them get away with it twice. 

Leaning against his desk, he stared at the evidence board. It’d been six months since they’d discovered Ariel and Eric. Same as before there’d been no connection between the victims. They lived in separate towns, hadn’t so much as stepped in the same coffee shop. There hadn’t been a DNA hit either. The only speck of luck they’d gotten had been a camera from a nearby storefront. It’d captured a glimpse of a car - a silver compact, four door - pulling into the parking lot around the time bodies would’ve dropped off and pulling out an hour later. The footage had been too grainy to get the license plate and the windows had been tinted, so no visual on the killer either. 

 

It hadn’t left him with much to go on. All he knew was that the killer drove a silver four door car, was strong enough to haul all four of them bodies to their locations. The theatre employees were certain that no door were left open, so odds were the killer was a decent lock pick too. All the kidnappings were random. Each of the victims had been snatched off the street, both in broad daylight and at night. And they were all from different cities. This guy was a traveler but he didn’t go far, all the victims lived within an hour or two from each other. It didn’t seem likely that the killer would cross state lines. 

 

He sighed, staring at the board, willing it to speak to him. All he needed was one string to pull on, one thread and he’d unravel this whole mess. 

 

He knew this perp wouldn’t walk away. The only way to stop them was to make sure they were caught and put behind bars. And he was determined to do it before they killed another innocent person. 

 

Little did he know, the killer had already had two new victims in their grasp. 

  
  



End file.
